


A Dream of Death and Deluge

by galeneiis



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A lot of references to Westerosi Gods, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alysanne ain't having it, Canon-Typical Violence, Elemental Magic, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Euron Greyjoy is His Own Warning, Euron Greyjoy is nothing like on GoT, Euron just wants to watch the world burn, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character Death, No betas; we die like Ramsay, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, The Stark kids are in Essos for this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25370119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galeneiis/pseuds/galeneiis
Summary: Alysanne has never dreamed easily, but her nights are even more restless as of late, with the imminent return of Euron Greyjoy threatening her position as Lord Balon's ward and her safety. A lady without a house, her parentage a seemingly unsolvable mystery, she flees to Winterfell and takes on a position as Theon's right hand, ordered by his father to protect the Prince of the Ironborn. Though as the crows circle the castle in anticipation of the next inevitable carnage, a threat which might rival even Euron's madness presents itself to her, leaving her imprisoned within walls that seem to thirst for her blood ...
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Oberyn Martell (implied), Theon Greyjoy/Original Character(s), Theon Greyjoy/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	A Dream of Death and Deluge

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to write this for a long time (the first concept of Alysanne is actually more than a year old, at this point) and now I have finally dared to publish the first chapter. Expect a lot of character development, a sort of slow-burn situation (the ship aspect of this story only truly begins in the latter half, I suppose), a sprinkle of mystery and a lot of badassery. I'm always thankful for constructive criticism and feedback, btw! Thanks for reading. 
> 
> Thanks also to my friend aheshke, who has entertained my musings and ideas for the past year and also provided the title for this story as well as helped me get some inspo for the summary. 
> 
> (A minor note on the canon divergence from the beginning of the story, the Stark children are in Essos, safe from all the bullshit in Westeros - writing them into the story would've made things more complicated, but I did not want to kill them off so that's that. They will be mentioned eventually. Jon is at the Wall, though I doubt he will be referenced until much later.)  
> (Further tags will be added as I upload further chapters.)

Her trembling hand barely managed to grip the reins of her horse as they stood before the gates of Winterfell, the cold permeating her entire being. Rough weather had been a staple of Alysanne’s upbringing, but the deafening winds of Pyke could not rival the bone-chilling gusts that seemed to be omnipresent in the North, slowing her down whilst simultaneously edging her on. The sun was slowly fading behind the horizon, robbing her of the last source of warmth she might have had in a place so foreign to her, threatening to leave her in the dark before she would even come to know whether she would be granted accommodation within the castle’s walls.  
The journey across Westeros had been long and tiresome, yet the part she always dreaded about it the most were the nights, the time most would look forward to - an opportunity to rest and recuperate. Alysanne however often found herself sleepless, the only thing to keep her company her horse and the gentle light of the moon as she dreamed of easier days. Days when she hadn’t been ordered to flee, to cover as much ground as possible, by the man she considered akin to a father, a man who soon would take his last breath.  
The crows circling above her, as if awaiting her slow death and their resulting sustenance, had long become nothing but a nuisance to her, the cawing as insignificant to her as the sound of her horse’s hooves against the dirt. An eternity seemed to pass as her horse nervously shifted its weight around next to her, her own nervousness amplified within the mare. “Lord Theon sends his regards and asks to see you immediately,” she finally heard the guard who had left to inform the castle of her arrival shout from the top of the wall, and soon the heavy gates were drawn open for her, leaving her to wonder just how big the historical stronghold of the Starks truly would be. As she led her horse into the courtyard, she realized why it had been so anxious - the stench of rotting flesh suddenly clouded her mind, and she turned to see two bodies hanging above the arch she had just stepped through, a testament to the illegitimacy of Theon’s claim to the castle. Some of the crows now were picking at the decaying flesh, and whilst Alysanne had never considered herself to be of the superstitious kind, it felt like the worst of omens. Too often the common people had whispered about her, calling her the harbinger of death, but maybe this time death had not followed her but instead preceded her, outrun her.

Her cloak hung heavy on her shoulders as she was led through unfamiliar hallways, only now lending her enough protection from the cold for her not to be shaking anymore. The prospect of remaining in the North would have been an unfavourable one to her - she had never been fond of constant cold, and she doubted she would ever get used to it - had it not been for the circumstances of her departure from the Iron Islands. She would’ve walked through the proverbial Seven Hells if she had to, only to stay out of harm’s way, hidden away from those who craved to control her and her talents.  
Once they arrived in the big hall, Alysanne quietly handed her weapons to the guards - she knew her arrival had been announced beforehand by raven, but she doubted that both Lord Theon’s and the other occupants’ trust would be granted to her solely on the basis of a few written words from a Lord’s estranged father. During the past few years of acting as Lord Balon’s messenger and envoy, she had found that often it was easier to gain someone’s trust if one were to put their own trust into one’s counterpart, and it had become a lesson she lived by most of the time. Of course there were rather obvious exceptions, men she had been warned of, those she knew to be nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing.  
“Prince Theon,” she had recognized him almost instantly, his Greyjoy features a reminder of the lands she considered home, countless leagues away. “It is an honor to finally meet you.” Alysanne spoke as if she had never encountered him before, although she vaguely recalled a young boy in the halls of Pyke many years ago, when she had been barely more than a toddler herself, accompanying Yara and her. “Thank you for the gift of your hospitality. My name is Lady Alysanne, but I am sure Lord Balon has sent word of my upcoming arrival so you would already know as much.” Even after all these years of dealing with those who carried the titles of Lord or Lady justifiably, unlike her who was no true member of any house, speaking in the most gracious of ways still did not come naturally to her. Instead, it felt like navigating incredibly high pillars, jumping from one to the other whilst ruin loomed below. Nevertheless, something told her that amongst all those she had met, Lord Theon would be one to be the least conscious of protocol as long as one managed to not insult him - in her experience, Lords tended to be more forgiving than Ladies, for reasons she did not want to dwell on for too long. 

Her host motioned for her to rise and sit next to him by the table, an honor she would not have expected to be extended to her so easily, though not without not so subtly putting her into her place. “Lady Alysanne of House …?” Such words had ceased to sting a long time ago, for they were ubiquitous wherever she went, people feasting their curiosity on her unusual story. In a way, they all longed for validation, even if it was merely granted through finding someone else to be beneath them. And just how she expected the question from every highborn she met, she had known Theon would sooner or later pose it, though he had been more blunt about it than she had assumed - Yara had been right with evaluating him as bold, though she had also referred to him as foolish and arrogant, claims Alysanne had yet to verify. “My Prince, I was only granted the title of Lady through your father’s generosity as I am his ward. Where I came from, who my parents are, I do not know. And neither does Lord Balon, if he is to be believed on the matter. Still, in the Iron Islands I am considered to be his daughter in everything but blood, which has indeed granted me certain advantages I would not have been able to enjoy otherwise.” She thought of the almost uncountable books occupying the shelves of her chambers, the invaluable knowledge she had gathered from them, of Gods, mortals, of powers beyond imagination and cultures so far from Westeros, they seemed out of reach.  
“What brings you here, then? The North is no place for a solitary woman, not in fast-changing times like these. My father must not be as fond of you as you assume, to send you out into the world like this, unprotected.” It was an all too familiar sentiment, the assumption that she was incapable of protecting herself, and as always it was just as misguided on this occasion. Alysanne offered a soft smile to the maid who poured her a cup of the sour wine that seemed to be oddly popular in the North, the table soon filling with more food than she had seen in weeks, if not months.  
“My Prince, if you allow me to be completely honest with you, I do not need anyone’s protection on these roads - the only thing to ever frighten me still presumes me to be in Pyke, which is why I have decided to flee before another encounter takes place. That, and your father has requested for me to act as your advisor, for whilst I do think that he values your judgment, there are benefits to looking at matters from various perspectives.” The latter part was only partially true, for she had been sent to ensure that Theon would stay out of trouble, trouble that was no doubt already heading his way. However, when Balon had sent her away - with an insistence that might even permit her to call it a banishment - they both knew the reason to be much more clear-cut, and to most much more unexpected.  
“What is it that frightens you then?”  
“You might think I’m joking, my Lord,” she began, alternating his title as she did not want to overuse the one that carried a higher status, “but what, no, who I am avoiding is your uncle, Captain Euron. Your father has known of your uncle’s plans to overthrow him for a while now, and there are things that will undoubtedly occur once he has managed to usurp your father, in whichever way. Events that I would rather not be present for.” She offered a weak smile as she waited for him to start eating, only so she could then do the same, the food so divine after weeks of dried meat, fruit, bread and the occasional stew.  
At first, she thought that Theon would not question her statement as they ate in silence, and she was thankful for she doubted she could focus on conversation when her body was begging her to eat as much as she could, worrying that her next proper meal would once more be weeks away. However, surprisingly it seemed as if he was carefully considering his words instead, something she would not have expected judging from Yara’s words.  
When he finally addressed her again, Alysanne realized he knew more than she had anticipated, leading her to wonder just how much information Lord Balon had divulged in his letters to his son. “My lady, I would never doubt your words, not when I know them to be true due to what my father has relayed to me. I suppose the allure of a sea witch - that’s what they call you, isn’t it - even affects Greyjoys at times.” His pause seemed more like courtesy to her, so she might manage to hide her surprise at the name he had used to refer to her. It was a mocking title that had haunted her ever since her childhood, one which by now she had learned to mostly carry with pride, after she had understood the power that came with having people whisper her name alongside hushed stories whenever they thought her to be outside of earshot. “Yet a marriage to my uncle is not what you desire, though it would solve your issue of lacking a House, wouldn’t it? One might think you are trying to escape one Greyjoy by becoming the bedwarmer of another. I would not dare complain, of course.”  
Bedwarmer? She found herself barely able to suppress her laughter at such a display of hubris, though now she found herself finally believing the story Yara had told her about the day Theon had arrived back in Pyke, attempting to seduce his sister - she had not been present then, instead having been on her way home from representing Lord Balon in talks with the Tyrells. “I apologize, my Lord, but I do not seek the attention of any man, not even the Prince of the Iron Islands. Your father wishes to eventually wed me to some minor Lord from the mainland, an act of diplomacy as so many marriages are, and the mainlanders do prefer their wives to be untouched, as you would undoubtedly know.” It was then that she realized that she was more of an Ironborn than him in most aspects, the only exception being his distinct Greyjoy looks whilst she herself had not been blessed with any features that might allow assumptions about her parents. Dark brown hair and green-brown eyes were features as common as rocks were in the Vale. “That being said, I hope you nevertheless will allow me to remain in Winterfell for the time-being, until I know how to proceed in matters relating to your uncle, my Prince.”  
“I shall grant your request for now, Lady Alysanne. But only if you are kind enough to show me whether the rumors I have come to hear in Pyke carry even an inkling of truth, for you might agree that the claims made about you are rather outrageous and unlikely, correct?” 

She simply nodded in response to both his questions for she knew a demonstration of her capabilities would be a small price to pay for a temporary home, a few moons of calm and quiet until she would no doubt have to face the reality of her existence as Euron would possibly go as far as sending men to return her to the Islands.

For now, she could breathe. 

**********

“M’lady, why were you traveling on your own, if you might indulge my curiosity?” Alysanne had been caught off-guard by the question as she was led into what would be her chambers for the near future by an old maid who had introduced herself as Lanna. “The North is more frightening nowadays than it used to be, after all.”  
“Lord Balon sent a few of his men to accompany me to the Neck, but from there I traveled on my own - there simply was not enough time, and I was not too fond of having to ride for weeks alongside men who would no doubt think that I was unable to protect myself.” In spite of my reputation, she noted to herself, a sigh coming past her lips as she found herself exasperated at the thought of having to convince men of her own strength for the rest of her life. It would no doubt become tiresome eventually, if it was not already. “After all, I own more daggers than some people have fingers, and so far only once someone has dared challenge me, when I was on my way to Highgarden. Needless to say, they did leave me with fewer fingers than they had when they had first encountered me.”  
At first, Lanna seemed taken aback by the story, and Alysanne would not dare blame her, for most doubted her potential to harm and kill, and the few who did not wanted to harness it for their own goals. However, soon she inquired about her visit to Highgarden, and as she found herself reminded of one of the maids of her childhood, she could not refuse her questions. Their conversation lasted longer than she had expected, as Lanna told her of how she had originally been a maid in Highgarden, only to ultimately end up in the North, and Alysanne thought that the old woman’s stories were much more captivating than her own, for she had faced adversities the Lady thought to be unbearable.  
“I miss Highgarden, m’lady. This place, it seems to be filled to the brim with the dead, it is as if Winterfell has been cursed. It truly is a mess, and if I were you, m’lady, I would try to leave as soon as possible. You might be able to handle a few men, but nowadays, I fear for all our lives. I would not want to add another name to the inevitable victims.”  
“Certainly no witch has come to curse Winterfell, Lanna.” She was aware it was most likely a simple phrase, a result of smallfolk’s preference to blame bad luck on a malevolent spell, but nevertheless she could not help but to note the fact. “But if what you say is true, who should I fear? Is it truly a curse or but the madness of man?”

“The Boltons, m’lady. I’ve heard Lord Theon speak of them, and madness would not even begin to describe the rumors. For all I know, they might have escaped the Seven Hells to bring torment upon the living, I would not be surprised.” To Alysanne, their name was but another House, but she assumed from the way simply speaking of them seemed to incite terror within the maid that these rumors were widely known, easily believed. “Some speak of a possible reconquest, to return Winterfell into the hands of a Northerner - if they succeed, I would rather see myself dead than amongst their kind - I’ve heard the walls of the Dreadfort never stop screaming.” 

Of course, a reconquest - though if the Boltons were as bad as Lanna suggested, Alysanne doubted that they would ever think about returning the castle to its - in the eyes of the Northerners - rightful inhabitants. Cruelty all too often was infatuated with greed - for power, money, truly anything - and she doubted these people were any different. “Lanna, I am deeply thankful for your warnings, but there are things I have seen you could not imagine. If you speak the truth about their maliciousness, they are still mere men, bound to the same basic principles as we are - when you cut them, they bleed, and if enough of their blood is shed, they eventually perish. There is only one where I would doubt such a thing.” Alysanne’s gaze was fixed on the floor as she sat atop her bed, her fingers curled around the rather delicate, golden Kraken pendant around her neck. “As long as they do not stare back at me with eyes of midnight, I will not fear them, Lanna.”  
Even so far from the sea, she sometimes thought she could smell its gentle scent, a reminder of the family she had to leave to avoid a fate she considered worse than death, for death at least offered a kind, if cold embrace whereas what would have awaited her was anything but.


End file.
